


Disambiguation

by withlightning



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: kissbingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-18
Updated: 2010-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withlightning/pseuds/withlightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Disambiguation [noun]: clarification that follows from the removal of ambiguity</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Disambiguation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [end1essly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/end1essly/gifts).



> Written for my darling [olgameisterfunk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/olgameisterfunk/profile) to cheer her up. Although, I'm not sure if this is all that cheering. Used a [kissbingo](http://community.livejournal.com/kissbingo/) square, _greetings: see you soon_. Quick beta by my point man, [kelticbanshee](http://kelticbanshee.livejournal.com/profile).

They don't talk. They never do.

 

 

Arthur lets Eames hold him down, lets Eames ground him, lets Eames break him into pieces; into shards, into crumbs, into atoms, molecules, protons. Arthur lets Eames leave him shattered.

Arthur wants to say _no, stop_ , he wants to say _don’t touch me_ , wants to say, _never let go_ , and he doesn’t. Instead, he holds on tighter.

And like always, they're frantic, they're rushed, they're flying, they're high and they're together – they're _together_ and Arthur is high on adrenaline, high on endorphins; he's high on life and sex and booze; he's high on reality, high on Eames.

 

 

Reality, Arthur knows, is nothing like dreaming. In reality colors are bitter and dull and flat, they're muted and dark. In reality the sky turns to space, dull blue turning to flat blue turning to muted blue turning to dark, dark, bitter black, going on endlessly, out of reach. In reality the stairs only go up and down between meaningless matter and the only paradox in reality is politics and relationships. In reality life is about needs and accomplishments, it's about disappointments and never-ending hope; about wants and desires and keeping it all in. In reality life is about being afraid, about being brave and knowing when to let go, when to give up, to give in. In reality life is bitter and dull and flat, it's muted and dark. In reality there's no wake-up song when you’re running out of time; in reality there's no waking up when you die.

Arthur likes dreaming better.

 

 

Eames' kisses are biting – his kisses are scorching and desperate and hurried and devouring; they're bruising and intense, so fucking intense Arthur's head spins; so fucking intense Arthur feels part of himself being sucked away, from some place deep inside, some place important. His soul, he thinks fleetingly, Eames is sucking his soul.

Fighting against coming, fighting for coming, Arthur thinks he can see sharp colors bursting in his vision; the corners of the ceiling closing in on him, the rush of excitement and the sparks flashing behind his eyes like an unsolved paradox, like the universe. And when he's gasping for air, feeling like he's dying, soulless – surrounded by sweet and sharp and edge, surrounded by vocal and bright – he wonders, once again, how is this reality?

 

 

Eames traces Arthur's skin with his tongue, lazy strokes with pointed tip; "G" on his shoulder, double "O" on the side of his shoulder blade, "D" on his neck and "B" behind his ear—

And Arthur turns quickly, knows. He knows what Eames is doing; knows because it's always the same. Eames will race with the sunrise and Arthur is left behind.

Arthur knows it's almost over, knows their time is almost over and he lifts his hand and rests it on the side of Eames' cheek. The stubble is stingy, the skin underneath is warm. Arthur gives a small smile, a quirk of his lips, quick and pointless and Eames closes his eyes for a beat.

 

 

They don't talk. They never do.

 

 

Full lips brushing against the shell of Arthur's ear, goosebumping his flesh. Hand tightening on his hip, fingers pressing harder, imprinting, flexing and then, smoothing.

Three words whispered; bright, sharp and hopeful; goodbye as a greeting.

"See you soon."

 

\- Fin


End file.
